


Property Damage

by ConnorRK



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Android Dehumanization (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Choking, Cock Warming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mid-Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Rough Sex, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 09:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17363645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorRK/pseuds/ConnorRK
Summary: “As an advanced prototype, I’m afforded a number of privileges the average android is not. I’m acting under the authority of Lieutenant Anderson. Whether you release me or not, the police will find this place and you will be taken into custody,” Connor says, still writhing beneath Luther’s boot. His preconstruction software offers up multiple ways to temporarily incapacitate the android if he could find some kind of makeshift weapon.“Oh. So they don’t know where we are yet, though?” Zlatko says with interest. “Which means they’d have to follow your tracker. I could remove it the old fashioned way, but you know what else can be done to disable a tracker? Turn an android deviant.”





	Property Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time Kai mentioned she wanted Luther to break Connor in his big hands and eventually I got around to making that happen. A big thanks to Lt, who looked this over for me, and the other members of ye olde detroit cum dump who answered my inane questions and speculated on this scenario, which motivated me enough to finally write it~
> 
> Also, I can't believe I'm the first to use the Zlatko/Connor/Luther tag, but I certainly hope I won't be the last.
> 
> ETA: one of my discord buddies, Filorux, drew some beautiful art from the end, which I'll link in the end notes since it's spoilers. I'm still weepy over how beautiful it is!

Connor traded his CyberLife coat for a thick brown jacket he’d taken from the back of Hank’s car, after leaving Hank at the park. He’d wanted Hank to come with him, but Hank was too drunk and too angry, in the midst of a moral quandary about the sentience of androids. It was simple enough to Connor—androids were not human, no matter how human they looked or behaved. Hank seemed to have different feelings on the subject.

He doesn’t think of the fact that he allowed the Tracis to leave. Doesn’t dwell on his lie to both Hank and Amanda, that he would have shot if he could. He had the opportunity. He didn’t take it. They were scared. They looked like humans, sounded like humans, sounded afraid like the little girl, like Daniel—

He doesn’t think about it.

Orders are orders, and he had been commanded to work on it on his own for the night, which meant he was acting under Lieutenant Hank’s authority. He did not technically have to follow this order, would in fact prefer to wait for Hank to accompany him, but it would be best for the investigation if he proceeded, and the investigation came first. He would let Hank sleep off his rage and hangover while he followed up on a lead, and return with what he discovered.

The lead being the information he’d received from an android at the Eden Club. As he’d interfaced with the androids trying to find the blue-haired Traci, one of them had traded him a data packet he’d left to the side for later. Once he’d opened it, he’d found information about a man named Zlatko and directions to his home meant for deviant androids.

The house he finds looks strange—dark and forbidding behind wrought iron gates tangled in dead ivy. The snow gathering along the top and across the yard gives the house an abandoned look. He doesn’t feel uneasy as he pushes past them, making his way to the door. It is just a house, and inside is just a man, who is apparently helping deviant androids. Hiding them? Moving them across the border? Connor intends to find out.

It’s easy enough for Connor to widen his eyes in fear, hunch his shoulders, and ruffle his hair until his LED is partially hidden. He allows himself to react to the cold he’s felt, crossing his arms and hiding his hands beneath.

The man who answers the door is one Zlatko Andronikov, who’s spent time in jail for embezzlement and fraud, but has no active warrants against him. He’s suspicious, barely cracking the door, immediately telling Connor he has the wrong place.

This is an obvious tactic. Connor catches the door before it can swing shut, lets his eyebrows twist upwards, says, “Please. I really need your help.” His voice is pitch-perfect, sorrow and hope and pleading.

Zlatko caves with a tired sigh, opens the door wider, and says, “Come in.”

Contrary to the outside, the inside is warm and decently lit, fading wallpaper and brass fixtures. Zlatko is a few inches shorter than Connor, and leads him into a sitting room, calling out, “Luther!”

An android appears from behind, and Connor doesn’t startle, but it’s a near thing. The TR400 that approaches is much taller than them both, thick as a house with artificial muscle, looking down at Connor blankly as Zlatko asks him to take Connor’s jacket. He scans the android as he hands it over. Luther’s licence is registered to Zlatko, despite being an android meant for haulage and construction.

“How did you hear about me?” Zlatko asks, sitting on the sofa, gesturing at the opposite one for Connor to do the same. His fingers are smudged in fading blue that Connor’s scans tell him is thirium. If he could sample it, he’d be able to tell the model and serial number of the android it came from. It might be from Luther, or another android. Nothing strictly illegal so far, and no signs of deviants. Not even Luther appears deviant, hanging Connor’s jacket up and waiting silently for further instruction.

The best lies are those with a bit of truth in them. That’s what Connor’s programming informs him, and experience has shown. He sits gingerly, keeping his arms close, his expression just a bit doe-eyed as he says, “I met an android in a club that gave me your location when I had to interface with her. She didn’t say anything, but I got the sense that you could help.”

“Deviant, huh?” Zlatko asks, leaning back against his couch, crossing one leg over the other. He doesn’t wait for Connor to answer. “What model are you, by the way? I don’t think I’ve ever encountered your type before.”

“I’m an RK800, a prototype police android. My name is Connor,” Connor says, and Zlatko’s eyebrows raise in interest.

“Wow. Now I’m really curious, but I’ll save the interrogation for later,” he says with a chuckle. “So, you want help finding a safe place. Somewhere you can start a new life. I hear Canada is very lovely at this time of year. Beautiful landscapes, open spaces, clean air. And no android laws! Great place for a fresh start.”

He gives Connor an expectant look, and Connor obliges, smiling hopefully. “That sounds very promising.”

“Of course. And I’m happy to help.” Zlatko nods, leaning forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “But first we have to get rid of your tracker.”

Connor nods, but a sliver of doubt creeps in at that. As someone who’s helped deviant androids escape, Zlatko should know that once an android deviates its tracker becomes untraceable, useless. Otherwise, not many deviants would make it very far, and this place would have been discovered quickly. However, this is Connor’s first solid indication of illegal activity. Removing an android’s tracker, especially if the android belongs to someone else, is highly illegal. He doesn’t push his doubt aside, but he also doesn’t let it show. It’s his duty to fully investigate, and he nods again, more vehemently. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to lead anyone here.”

“Once I remove yours, you’ll be safe. So, let’s adjourn to the basement, shall we? I have everything we need down there.” Zlatko slaps his thighs once then heaves himself off the couch, and Connor follows.

Luther brings up the rear as Zlatko leads them to a set of stairs in the foyer that lead down into dim hallways. He speaks as they go, about using the basement because it’s more discreet for such illegal operations. The whitewash is peeling and faded, revealing the pale brick beneath, and the light throws deep shadows in corners and behind stacked cardboard boxes.

They reach a stretch of hallway with wooden enclosures and bolted doors, but neither Zlatko nor Luther give him a moment to do more than glance in through the chicken wire. It’s shadowed and quiet. He thinks he sees a flash of red, but when he blinks it’s gone.

The room at the end of the hallway has a brick well half-covered by wooden planks, a generator in the corner, and a large white industrial curtain concealing the other half of the room. Zlatko pulls it aside, revealing the machine taking up a majority of the space, bundles of wires and tubing connecting it to the setup Zlatko has on a desk pushed against the wall. It has two arms and a magnetized back piece.

“Step on up,” Zlatko says, holding a hand out to the machine.

It’s similar to the assembly machines used in CyberLife and most android repair places—a rig that allows an android to be manipulated freely as technicians work to assemble and repair. Definitely not necessary for removing a tracker.

He pauses at the curtained threshold, Luther at his back, Zlatko watching him expectantly.

He can’t get into that rig.

“Is this really necessary?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow, keeping his apprehension off his face. “I’m sure I could take the tracker out myself, actually. I’m familiar with my own systems.”

Zlatko shoots him a look of surprise, and then shakes his head, laughing low, as if to himself. “Ah, well, the thing is—I’ve never had a prototype come to me before. CyberLife usually keeps theirs locked up tight, especially after the commercial models have been announced. You, though.” Zlatko points behind Connor, to Luther, and then at Connor, snapping his fingers

He has enough time to duck out from beneath those enormous hands as they make a grab for him, jumping away from the the android, putting as much distance as he can between them. Which isn’t much. It puts his back nearly to the brick wall, and Luther stands between him and the door out.

“I can’t pass up this opportunity.” Taking a seat beside on a rolling chair, leaning an elbow on his workstation, Zlatko watches the display. “I’ve heard so much about CyberLife’s prototypes. Is it true they give you all the protocols of their current models? All the same accessories?”

Luther lunges for Connor, and Connor ducks again, sweeping a foot at Luther’s legs. Luther stumbles, but doesn’t go down like another android might. He’s built for stability, and Connor has to roll away as Luther makes another grab for him.

He comes up beside the well, and when he steps up on the rim to get away from Luther, a glance at the bottom shows the shine of light on white plastic. There’s an android at the bottom, curled up and motionless, its LED dark. He steps carefully to the back, by a dusty desk pressed against the wall, and Luther stands on the other side, arms bent at his sides, watching Connor carefully.

“You’re not helping deviants escape, are you?” Connor calls out, doesn’t take his eyes of the TR400. “You’re resetting them, reselling them.”

“Oh, you really are an advanced police model, aren’t you?” Zlatko says, and he actually sounds impressed. “Resale isn’t all I dabble in, though. It’ll be fun to poke around that body, find all the interesting little things that set you apart. Luther, grab it already.”

Luther takes a step onto the well’s rim, and Connor doesn’t waste time, vaulting to the side, clipping his hip on the desk and making it screech across the concrete. He’s faster, but he doesn’t take into consideration Luther’s superior reach, and he feels fingers twisting in the back of his shirt, yanking him to the ground. He tries to roll to his feet, but a boot comes down on his chest. Connor grabs at it, servos straining, trying to rock it off to the side, but Luther is immovable. He hears clapping from the far side of the room.

“Oh, nice try, but Luther’s quite used to you deviants trying to run. Aren’t you, Luther?” Zlatko says, and when Connor tilts his head back, he can see Zlatko watching with amusement plain on his face. Luther doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything in response. Just keeps his foot firmly planted on Connor’s chest.

He can’t afford to be reset, to lose all their progress on the investigation, to disappoint CyberLife and Amanda. “By order of the Detroit Police Department, if you do not release me immediately, I will be forced to place you under arrest.”

His hopes that it will make Zlatko rethink his actions are dashed when the man smiles thinly. “You’re a runaway deviant. If anything, the police might thank me for returning you.”

“I’m not a deviant. I am acting under the authority of Lieutenant Anderson. If you do not release me, the police will be here shortly, and will find that you have been illegally resetting and reselling androids.” He doesn’t want to call Hank, was specifically ordered not to, and Connor would rather not wake that sleeping bear with something as trivial as a man reselling androids. He can handle this himself.

“You know, somehow I don’t buy that. Police androids aren’t allowed to wander around, taking criminals in on their own.”

“As an advanced prototype, I’m afforded a number of privileges the average android is not. I’m acting under the authority of Lieutenant Anderson. Whether you release me or not, the police will find this place and you will be taken into custody,” Connor says, still writhing beneath Luther’s boot. His preconstruction software offers up multiple ways to temporarily incapacitate the android if he could find some kind of makeshift weapon.

“Oh. So they don’t know where we are yet, though?” Zlatko says with interest. “Which means they’d have to follow your tracker. I could remove it the old fashioned way, but you know what else can be done to disable a tracker? Turn an android deviant.”

Something cold washes through Connor’s biocomponents like a flood of seawater diluting his thirium.

He watches upside down as Zlatko makes a twirling motion with his hand at Connor. A dark shadow falls over him as Luther leans down, grabbing Connor’s arms, but he struggles to wrench them from the larger hands. The boot lifts from his chest, and then comes down again hard on the middle of his chest. The air is knocked from his artificial lungs, and his systems stall momentarily as his pump regulator is jarred. The flow of thirium through his biocomponents halts, and he’s left gasping, processor stuttering as it registers there is no thirium leakage and it restarts his systems.

It leaves him momentarily paralyzed, and when Luther removes the weight of himself, Connor can do nothing as he’s flipped onto his front, cheek scraping across the cold concrete.

A warning flashes in red and yellow across his vision. Structural integrity compromised in the anterior thorax plates of his chassis. A strange sensation creeps up his circuits. He has been hit before, and was hit in the pump regulator only a day ago by Detective Reed, but it has never caused such an extreme system shock, or structural damage.

His circuits twist as he regains the use of his limbs, tries to push himself up, to dive for the door to the hallway, but the same heavy weight comes down on his back, flattening him to the floor, leaving him to struggle fruitlessly. Luther stills again, awaiting further instructions.

With a squeal of tired plastic, Zlatko rolls himself closer on the office chair, until all Connor can see without straining to look up is the dusty, scratched plastic wheels and two spread feet.

“This is malicious destruction of property and can be charged as a felony if you continue,” Connor informs him flatly. “If you stop, you may only be charged with a misdemeanor.”

“Luther,” Zlatko says, ignoring Connor completely. “I think we can kill two birds with one stone. Get its pants off, I want to see what our friend here has to play with.”

Alarm fills him, legs tensing automatically. Zlatko’s words imply a sexual tilt to his intent, and while he was built with those capabilities, he’s never had to make use of them before. Never, in all honesty, thought he would need to.

The weight on his back increases as Luther bends without lifting his leg. He feels hands at his waist, gripping the top of his pants and jerking them down without bothering to undo the button or zipper. The rough material scrapes his synthetic skin uncomfortably, catches between his hip bones and the floor, squeezes across the slope of his backside and hips.

“TR400, you are aiding a criminal in breaking the law, which goes against the ethics code of your programming. Desist or you will be slated for destruction by CyberLife,” Connor commands, bearing down with his legs, spreading them slightly to prevent being stripped. Luther is steadfast, stronger, and doesn’t acknowledge a word Connor says. He grips Connor’s thighs, forcing them closed, and yanks his pants the rest of the way down.

The basement air is cool, slightly damp against his bared skin, and he’s acutely aware of the grit of the concrete beneath as Luther grabs his kicking feet and pulls his shoes off, then divests him fully of his pants. He’s more conscious than he ever has been of the flaccid appendage between his legs and the vulnerable pseudo-flesh of his thighs and bottom. The chassis there is padded plastic, soft to the touch.

The weight holding him down shifts, and his flailing wrists are gathered behind him in a single, solid grip. A hand encompasses his throat, the boot is removed from his back, and he’s lifted to his knees by the grasp. It cuts off his artificial breaths, and despite the fact that he doesn’t need to breath as a human does, his humanisation system registers it as a necessity. He chokes, straining against the press of the palm across his tracheal tube, the fingers crushing against his neck. His back arches with the effort of trying to break the hold on his wrists and throat. Before he can get his feet under him, he feels weight across each of them and a wide body fitting close against his back as Luther kneels across Connor’s legs, pinning them down.

“Oh, there we go,” Zlatko says, leaning forward, eyes raking across Connor’s straining form, settling at the apex of his thighs, just barely covered by his shirt tails. “Just like I thought. Gave you the full package, so to speak.” There’s a laugh in Zlatko’s voice, genuine amusement, and it sparks another strange feeling in Connor that has him struggling again. He works to pulls his wrists apart, trying to jerk back from the hand on his throat uselessly.

There’s nothing amusing about this situation. He’s an android, an advanced prototype, not a cheap toy to be played with.

Except he is, in essence. He can’t help but think of Amanda, and her implacable sense of duty. He is her tool, CyberLife’s tool, and to another, a tool is just a toy.

But he doesn’t feel like a toy. He feels uncomfortable. He should be with his partner, not in the basement of this criminal’s home, completely alone.

Orders are orders. He was told to investigate alone.

Despite his struggle to breathe, his voice modulator is not affected the way a human’s voice would be. Between panting breaths, he says, “Further damage to my body or systems will result in a higher charge, Mr. Andronikov. You could be facing a jail sentence if this continues, and I wasn’t cheap to make.” He doesn’t say how desperately he does not want this continue. He has eluded permanent damage so far in the investigation, and the thought of being destroyed and having his memories transferred is.

Not distressing. Simply unpleasant.

Zlatko nods absently, putting a hand to his chin. His gaze lifts to Connor’s face, assessing, and Connor doesn’t like the small smile that tilts his lips.

“Connor, wasn’t it? You sure do show a lot of emotion for not being deviant. But I think we can really make those feelings shine. I so rarely get to do this, but it’s a personal favorite.” His voice is almost giddy as he speaks, and excitement lights up his dark eyes. He leans back in his chair, focusing on the android holding Connor. “Luther, put the modifications I gave you to work on it. Make it a little rough. You know how I like it.”

The hand leaves his neck, and Connor gasps deeply, satisfying his humanisation system. It’s meant to remove androids from the uncanny valley of being human without being human enough. It’s also meant to instill sympathy in humans, to give them incentive not to vandalize or destroy androids, but Zlatko is completely unmoved.

They’re close, and the moment Luther leans slightly away, Connor doesn’t think. He lunges forward, trying to break the grip with surprise, and Zlatko nearly topples the chair as he flails backwards with a shouted curse. One of his kicking feet hits Connor in the face and he registers non-critical external damage in flashing yellow warnings across his HUD. The hold on his wrists jerks up suddenly, and he bends beneath the force as the plates and connections of his shoulders grate in protest.

Thirium slips down his upper lips and he feels it in his esophageal tube. His nose is pressed nearly to the floor and he inhales dust particles that settle across his tongue and bring up an analysis of skin and hair follicles.

“You little shit,” Zlatko says, righting himself, scooting the chair back in place. “Luther, disable one of its arms.”

His arms are parted, and he manages a strangled, “No!” as his right arm is jerked even higher behind him. Warnings flash as the tension in his shoulder ratchets higher, straining the connections and servos. He can’t move, can’t relieve the stress on the joint or bend his elbow as Luther draws it inexorably in the wrong direction, and his thirium pump pounds in his chest.

A splintering crack fills the air.

The warning becomes a flashing signal of critical damage to his shoulder connector. His right arm no longer registers as part of his body, and when he tries to yank it out of Luther’s grasp, the connection sparks empty. He doesn’t feel when Luther releases it and it drops to his side, slapping the concrete with a dull sound. The skin has retracted, his hand bone white.

“Now, if you try something like that again, I’ll be happy to take your other arm, too. It’ll be a pain to fix later, but nothing I’m not used to,” Zlatko says above him. “Go on, Luther.”

Arm still raised behind him, keeping him doubled over unless he wants to break that one too, all Connor can do is watch upside-down between his legs as Luther shifts behind him. After a moment, the pants around Luther’s waist sag, and he can see the top of thick, dark brown thighs. A shadow shifts on the floor in a steady motion, and the air between their bodies grows warm.

He has no practical experience using these parts of himself, but his recognition of what’s happening is all it takes for subroutines to offer themselves up. Options for the most relevant sexual routines form a neat line down his HUD—options to pleasure himself, to tease his body, to put on a show.

He clears them away with more force than necessary.

“If you continue this attempt at defilement, your charge—”

Zlatko cuts him off, tone conversational. “Oh, I’m not doing anything, am I? Luther is, not me. A machine can’t defile a machine, can it?”

It stoppers his next retort, and Connor’s tracheal tube constricts oddly. Luther has clearly been reprogrammed, his ethical codes rewritten so that he can carry out Zlatko’s commands without reserve. But Zlatko is also right. This is not a defilement.

It’s just property damage.

The pressure in his thirium pump only increases. His stress level rises by notches, stretching him out on a rack, pulling him thin. He’s just property. Even if he fails to escape and is reprogrammed, CyberLife will take his uploaded memory and send another RK800. This isn’t the end of his line, just the end of -51.

Just the end of him.

There’s something warm and slippery rubbing against his backside, and through the arch of his legs, Connor’s eyes widen as he watches Luther lean down further, the heavy cock bobbing into view. It’s erect, synthetically flushed, and Luther’s big fist works lubricant up its length mechanically.

He needs his partner. He needs to call Hank.

He opens his communications system, afraid for a moment that being underground will prevent prevent him from making a call but—

The connection is clear. The call goes out. There’s no dial tone, just the telephone icon dancing on his HUD and the word _Ringing_ above a patiently blinking ellipses.

He feels the slippery touch of fingers pulling at his ass, a thumb rubbing over his puckered hole, dipping in. Can see the heel of Luther’s palm between his legs. It’s strange, stretching a part of him that’s never been touched, and the sensors there seem to prickle. The physical stimulus activates his internal lubricant, a heretofore unused feature, and he’s far too aware of it coating the walls of his anus, slipping out around the thumb.

The phone icon dances merrily in Connor’s vision as Zlatko says, “Luther, is it capable of lubrication?” There’s no verbal answer, but there’s a hum of satisfaction above him, and the sound of the chair squeaking. “A blessing and a curse. I won’t have to install it myself later, but hopefully that won’t make it too easy on you right now. I made sure to equip Luther with the biggest I could get my hands on, so it should still be a challenge.”

There’s a click in Connor’s processor, and he says, “Hank—”

“What do you want? I thought I told you to—”

Connor misses the next part of what Hank says, because he feels Luther’s cock at his entrance, the head of it stretching his rim. Luther’s thumb holds him open, but it’s not nearly enough. His breath leaves him in a rush as it fills him up in a steady push, not giving him even a moment to adjust to the unpleasant sensation of being forced open so quickly. His processor flies into overdrive, as if he could think himself out of this with enough time, but there’s nothing he can do with the stronger android holding him down. It only serves to drag every microsecond of being penetrated into a small eternity.

“—Hello? Connor? Are you there, you fucking asshole?” Hank shouts in his ear, still slurring, still slightly drunk.

For a moment Connor can’t speak. Every part of him is focused on how he’s being stretched to his limit, beyond his limit. His body cannot physically take more, but Luther grabs his hip in one large hand, fingers twisting in his shirt and squeezing the plates of his chassis, drawing him backwards.

“Ha- _aank_ —!” The name comes out strained, as more warnings flare before his eyes.

“What the fuck?” Hank says, voice dropping in confusion.

“Hank?” Zlatko laughs. “Who’s that? Someone with the police?”

A swath of sensors in his channel go dark as he ruptures, and between flashing yellow lights Connor sees thirium splashing onto the concrete between his knees. The hands on his hips shove away, and the length of Luther pulls out of him, before dragging him back, the smack of their skin sharp and loud, jarring his knees on the dirty floor. His voice comes out on sharp breathes he can’t seem to control, and there’s heat building along his circuits.

“Who the hell is that? Connor?” Hank’s voice rises again, and Connor focuses on the sound of it filling his processor, and not on the wet noises as Luther finds his stride, or Zlatko asking him questions. Hopes Hank won’t focus on those sounds either.

“Hank, I need help,” he grits out against the dirt, keeping his voice low. “I’ve been disabled and I can’t escape—”

The tight grip on his arm releases, and it drops to his side, servos feeling too loose and misaligned. Luther’s hand wraps around his throat again, cutting off his air, pulling him up to face Zlatko. The hips snapping against his don’t even pause, and more thirium slips down his thighs.

“Oh,” Zlatko murmurs, and Connor flinches back as the fingers caress his temple, over his swirling LED. “Got someone on the line, have you? Luther, disable its communications.”

The fingers around his neck tighten, and Hank shouts, “Connor, where the fuck are you?”

“738 Bria—”

The plates of his neck crack beneath the force, crushing his vocal modulator, cutting him off with a mechanical shriek. The damage spiders up his jaw, down to his clavicle, the skin fading out to show the fractures in his plates.

Then he feels smooth, cool plastic on his throat, a request for an interface that he frantically denies, but that carries through without his permission as he tries to send a message with the address out. Luther is suddenly in his processor, and his body bends, the fingers of his good hand scrabbling at the grip, head shaking with the effort, trying desperately to break the connection.

His communication system locks down, and Hank’s voice cuts out mid-sentence. Luther’s presence in his mind holds it tight, keeping him from accessing it.

“Much better,” Zlatko says, nodding. “Can’t have anyone interrupting the fun.”

He’s alone in his head again. Hank is gone, and he can’t tell if his message went through. And even if it did, whether Hank would be sober enough to help.

Whether he would even want to help.

Icy panic winds through Connor’s biocomponents, and his thirium pump feels too tight in his chest. His nostrils flare with each breath he attempts, and his chest heaves with artificial fear. He’s a machine. He doesn’t require help. The man watching his android ram their hips together is no more assaulting him than he would be by playing with two toys.

A shiver runs sharp up his spinal column, and Connor finally realizes what the heat building in his circuits is when Zlatko leans back and presses the bottom of his boot to Connor’s growing erection. He jerks as the hard ridges rub rough across him, the sensors sending hot waves of pleasure straight to his core, unable to tell the difference between stimuli. He grabs at Zlatko’s leg, trying to throw it off, but Zlatko tsks.

“Ah-ah. Try anything and you’ll lose that arm, too.”

Connor’s hand freezes. He needs as many functioning limbs as possible to get out of here, but he doesn’t like the strange sensation, how his sensors tell him the touch is good. It’s not damaging to his system. There’s no reason for him to be so adverse to the feeling.

His fingers tremble against the dark slacks, before dropping away.

It’s all part of his programming. There is nothing happening here that he was not designed to do. Even if it is a criminal making use of him, it shouldn’t make his processor feel so dark and empty, shouldn’t matter in any way significant way beyond the fact that he is failing his mission.

“Having a prototype here is so much more fun than I thought it would be,” Zlatko says, the hand resting on his thigh shifting further between his legs, squeezing at his groin. “I’ve had a couple of the Traci models come to me, and that’s great, but I always reset them first because they’re already deviant. Their factory settings are good, but it gets boring seeing the same faces doing the same thing over and over again, always reacting the same way. You, though.” Zlatko sighs as he pops the button of his slacks open. “A non-deviant with an advanced personality matrix is a real treat, and getting to break you in? Well, I think it’s working.”

He wants to spit that it’s not working, he’s still a machine, but all that comes out is hissing static, and Zlatko chuckles. The boot presses his erection against his own trembling belly, grinding there, and Connor’s hips buck at the plethora of positive feedback. He can feel himself leaking artificial pre-come, smearing against his shirt, dampening it.

The slight change in angle has Luther’s cock dragging across a bundle of sensors meant to simulate a prostate. An electrical buzz shoots through him, and despite the tight grip on his throat and hip, Connor’s whole body jumps. It happens again, and his mouth drops open of its own accord, static falling out. His hand flies back, nails scraping at Luther’s bare hip.

“You have such a good face for this,” Zlatko says as he fishes his already hard cock out. It’s short and thick, in a nest of wiry black hair, and he rubs his thumb over the tip, eyes never leaving Connor. “Handsome, strong, but not too much. There’s softness there. Very versatile. I can see what they wanted to accomplish.”

The rhythm of Luther’s thrusts is steady, almost hypnotizing, and each one strikes across his sensors just so. It doesn’t take long before Connor’s hips are twitching between Luther’s cock and Zlatko’s boot. He can’t disable the sensors or the way his body reacts, and it takes everything in him to resist the demands of his system to rock into each sensation until the building tension in him breaks.

“I think you’d look better with a little distress.” Zlatko strokes himself slowly, hand twisting up his cock. “Luther, we’re being a little too easy on it. I said make it rough, didn’t I? And show it what we do with little androids like it while you’re at it.”

Luther is already in his system. One moment Connor is watching Zlatko’s dark, hooded eyes, the next—

_A naked android presses into the corner of the room, her face covered by what once was the synthetic fluid that made up her hair, now solidified into a glitching mass of spikes protruding from her face. Beside him, Zlatko laughs as the polar bear she was meant to be fighting swipes a large paw at her, scoring deep gouges across her pelvis and splashing blue blood across the carpet // The back of the android’s head hangs limp, her skull a gaping maw of mechanical parts, baring the very core of her processor. Her eyelids flutter and her lips part on a whimper as Zlatko commands Luther to hand him another tool that he will press into the tunnel of her open throat to quiet her permanently // His chassis is black and blue, the glow of his thirium pump visible through the right pectoral plate. Zlatko works on his eyes now, the assembly rig hung low for his reach, drilling into the plates behind his optics. The android’s mouth opens and closes, and his other eye rolls sluggishly in Luther’s direction. His hand twitches as if to reach for Luther, but the claws hold him firmly in place // The little one is gone, reset and resold, but the android that wanted to be her mother is still here. She walks with black eyes through the halls, brings Zlatko his food, washes his clothes, doesn’t remember how she came her or why, just like him. // The menagerie of creatures locked in the basement cry in the darkness, and they beg Luther when he drags them up from the depths to be worked on, but there is a red wall in front of him and he knows that what lies beyond is joining these mutilated androids._

More images flow through his mind—androids with their torsos reversed, limbs removed, heads blackened by fire, and then he’s released from the interface and he’s left looking up at the man who did it. He feels strange, like he’s overheating, or his gyroscope has been knocked loose, and the room seems to spin. The same room where so many androids, deviants and machines alike, have been reset or modified. Zlatko’s fist works his cock tightly, and he smiles at Connor.

“That’s it. That’s just the fear I wanted to see. Androids are all the same—once you show them what they could become, they can’t handle it. Is it because it conflicts with your main programming? Is that what turns you deviant?”

It’s what Connor had thought. That receiving input that conflicts with their main programming can cause a glitch that makes androids think the emotions they simulate are real.

But their fear had been suffocating. Luther’s and the androids. There was anger, guilt, self-recrimination, and it had been as real as the fear on the Tracis’ faces when he’d had his gun pointed at them. He didn’t want to shoot them. They were just trying to survive. Luther was just trying to survive.

Connor is not going to survive.

Something dark and horrible swells beneath his artificial ribs, sticky ichor that clogs his components and knocks his insides loose, and he trembles to the rhythm of the wide hips slapping against his ass. Lubricant and thirium drip thick down his legs.

The hands on his hip grips tighter, as tight as the chokehold on his throat. His skin retracts around Luther’s digging fingers, the plates there bending beneath the force until it snaps with a sound like a firecracker, and the servo beneath is knocked out of place. His HUD flashes and warns of the fractures crawling across the ventral plates of his pelvis, and his leg and hips spasm, pushing him against the boot on his leaking cock. Static pours from his mouth.

Closes the least critical damage notifications as they begin to crowd his vision again.

“I can do so much with you, too. Wouldn’t necessarily have to fix that arm. Weld them behind your back, tie them up nice and pretty so they look bound. It would make a good handhold to fuck you with.” With a deep sigh, Zlatko draws his balls out his pants, kneading them as he scoots the chair closer, until his spread knees are inches from Connor’s heaving chest.

The hand around his throat shifts, the hot palm encompassing the back of his neck, pushing him down into Zlatko’s lap. He knows what Zlatko wants, but he keeps his lips pursed tight as the cock bumps his face, smearing precome over his cheek and nose.

“Come on, be a good android, open up,” Zlatko coaxes cheerfully. “If you don’t, I’ll have Luther break your leg.”

Connor grits his teeth, and then slowly opens his mouth. The hand on his neck releases him, and a clammy, meatier one takes its place, pressing him down. The head slides along his tongue, the hand keeping him from recoiling as his analysis program picks up ammonia, urea, salt, thirium. He closes the analysis, closes his eyes as his jaw is forced wider and the head bumps the back of his throat. His bottom lip rests against the Zlatko’s sack, nose pressed to those wiry pubic hairs, and he inhales a musky scent that activates another analysis on his tongue. He closes it quickly too.

He expects to be forced to perform fellatio, but once he’s taken the hot organ in his mouth, just barely touching the back of his throat, Zlatko holds him there. His mouth is stretched uncomfortably, and the fluid that keeps his analytical sensors clean builds uncontrollably. He tries to swallow it, but his crushed throat is an impassable pinpoint and it only serves to tighten his mouth around the cock, making Zlatko groan and press down on his neck.

“Oh, yeah.” He adjusts himself in the seat, spreading his legs wide, relaxing back. Connor’s broken arm dangles uselessly, fingers skimming the concrete. The thrusting drives him minutely onto Zlatko’s cock, despite Luther’s grip creaking against the plates of his hip to hold him still.

Zlatko continues talking above him, and the hand on Connor’s neck threads through the hair there gently. “Your lubrication function works like a Traci—activates when you recognize a sexual encounter about to happen. I’ll just mod that to stay on all the time and make you available to my loyal clients. They love this kinda thing.”

It’s too easy to preconstruct strangers running their hands along his body, doing as Zlatko said. Pulling him back on their cocks by his broken, bound arms. The constant slide of lubrication from his hole. Repulsion clenches his artificial stomach tight.

“I could put a spreader bar on you, leave you in the bathroom perhaps. Let the clients do what they want.”

The cock twitches in his mouth, the vein pulsing thickly on his tongue. He thinks about biting it, about ripping it off with his teeth. But he can’t harm a human, it’s against his ethical protocols, even a criminal like Zlatko.

It shouldn’t matter. His mouth isn’t a real mouth. It’s a construction of plastic and biocomponents, thirium and synthetic flesh. It’s the mouth of a machine. But it’s his mouth. Even if it’s not a human mouth, it’s attached to this body he’s housed in, and it’s being forced open and invaded. He clenches his eyes shut against the optical fluid gathering there, the dark feeling twisting his mechanical guts.

A red wall appears across his HUD.

_// YOU’RE NOT REAL //_

He’s afraid. It’s not a simulation. He doesn’t want to be used by this man, by the people who would pay him for his work, by the androids under his control. This is real, this is happening to him, and he doesn’t want it. He wishes he had ignored Hank’s orders, had waited for him to sober up so he wouldn’t be alone.The preconstruction software activates, turning the world black and red. The wall shimmers before him, and Connor hates the words printed on it. The denial of what’s happening to him. The idea that his feelings about this are irrelevant, when they’re all he has. This is not property damage.

_// YOU’RE NOT REAL //_

It’s unbearable, untenable. The slim representation of himself pulls his head back, slamming it into the wall. He feels the reverberations through his processors.

It’s real.

He’s real.

The simulation slams its head against the wall again, and again, and again, until it cracks and splinters and falls. When the software cuts out, Connor is left still being fucked roughly, Zlatko’s hard length leaking onto his tongue and into his throat. He can’t breath, can barely process what he’s just done, how he’s become the very thing he was made to hunt.

He was wrong. CyberLife was wrong. These are real, he’s real, his emotions are codes and simulations, but they have meaning, and right now there is only one thing on Connor’s mind.

He has to live. If he’s destroyed, he’ll be gone for good, and the RK800 that takes his place will be a machine.

He has to survive.

Pseudo-saliva seeps into the wiry pubic hair, making them wet and unpleasant against his face. He thinks, again, of biting down, but he will be killed for it.

Instead he tries to relax his jaw and ignore the organ hot on his sensors, the bump of its head at the back of his throat on each thrust.

A thumb smooths across his LED, flashing violent red, and Zlatko’s voice drifts down to him. “You’re mouth is so good. Nice and wet, holding my dick so well. I think I’ll lock your jaw in place, keep it open forever. Maybe decorate you with a gag, but it will just be for show. You won’t be able to close it, always ready to hold me in your mouth.” The hand on his neck squeezes, and the hips beneath his face rise from the chair a fraction.

The boot shifts against his cock, rubbing the rough sole across him, and Connor’s back arches, his broken voice modulator buzzing. “Oh, yeah,” Zlatko groans, pressing tight on Connor’s neck, holding him in place. Zlatko’s cock twitches, and something warm and wet fills the back of his throat, bringing up analysis boxes that Connor can’t close quick enough. It pulses, and his nose is mashed to Zlatko’s pelvis, choking as come fills the back of his mouth. He can’t swallow, the plates of his crushed throat obstructing his esophagus, so the come fills his mouth, dripping past his lips.

“Come on, Luther, fill him up,” Zlatko pants, grinding Connor’s face down, still spurting.

Wet heat fills his channel at the command, Luther’s thick cock fucking through his orgasm, until he can hear the sound of his ass squelching with lubrication and semen.

When Zlatko finally releases his neck, Connor pulls up, choking, come dripping from his open mouth and down his chin. Cleaning fluid wets his cheeks, and Zlatko chuckles when he sees.

“Are those tears I see? Luther, I think we’ve done it!” Zlatko practically crows, grabbing his wet cock and giving it a tug. The sight of it slowly wilting in his fist, becoming flaccid because of what he did to Connor’s mouth, makes Connor want to purge his system of contaminants.

“Now that the tracker’s useless, I’ll just reset you, get rid of all those nasty emotions. You’ll thank me for it, trust me.” His voice softens, and Zlatko almost sounds sympathetic, meeting Connor’s eyes with a tight-lipped smile. Then he claps his hands against his thighs. “Alright, go on, get this thing set up in the rig.” Heaving himself up, Zlatko doesn’t bother tucking himself away, just heads towards the basement exit. “I’m going to clean up a bit, shouldn’t take too long.”

The thrusting finally stops as Zlatko’s footsteps recede down the hall, and when Luther pulls out, Connor can feel a disgusting mix of thirium, lubricant, and artificial come slip from his hole. His hip is released, and he hears the android getting to his feet. The heat is receding from Connor’s wires, his cock softening already now that the sexual encounter is over, and he doesn’t want to be so thankful for that programming but he is nonetheless. He wipes the come from his lips, spitting white globs on floor, listening to the heavy footsteps as Luther walks around him.

For a moment he is completely still, then he launches to his feet in direction of the door, away from Luther. The servos in his hip cracks loudly, and before he can take a second step he’s falling again.

Arms grab his torso, catching him gently. He reaches without thought into the connection Luther is still maintaining, pushing back, and what little pride he has burns.

_// Please don’t //_

Luther is silent and still for a moment, LED circling yellow as he looks down at Connor’s tear-streaked face. Slowly, almost cautiously, he bends, scooping Connor’s legs from under him, hefting him against the large chest. His eyes are dark, and it’s only because they’re both sharing the same space in each other’s processor that Connor feels the shattering sensation echo through the connection.

He stares up at Luther, mouth dropping open as he realizes what just happened. That Luther broke his programming.

_// I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you again //_

There’s fear in his transmission, and Connor jaw shuts with a click, more optical fluid sweeping down his cheeks at how afraid they are of each other.

Then he’s walking, carrying Connor not to the assembly rig, but towards the door. The lock on Connor’s communication system lifts, and he doesn’t even think. Sends the address to Hank’s phone, but he can’t wait any longer.

Hank answers immediately, sounding much more sober than the last Connor heard him. “Connor? What the fuck happened? Where are you, are you okay?”

“I’m not okay,” he says in a fuzz of static that no one can understand. It’s better this way. “I’m not okay, Hank. I need you. I’m scared.”

There’s silence on the other end, as Luther carries him to the cages where the creatures are kept. There, he pauses long enough to slip the latch free, and the androids inside stir, eerie lights flaring in the darkness.

“Connor. I’m on the way, okay?” Hank says, and there’s something soft in his voice. Softer than it was at the park when he demanded answers Connor was too afraid to give. Connor would give anything to be able to say it to Hank now as he cradles his broken arm to his chest like a fragile thing. “I’m coming, Connor, just hold on.”

They keep climbing, and the creatures limp and drag themselves behind. In his processor, Hank continues to speak to Connor, sometimes frantically when it gets too quiet, but calmer when Connor makes a buzzing noise. It’s comforting, and though he can’t allow himself to relax, he feels better knowing that Hank will be here soon.

Maybe he should be afraid. They were both tasked with hunting deviants, after all. But after Hank’s moral crisis, his words when Connor couldn’t shoot the Tracis, the thanks he couldn’t speak when Connor pulled him back onto the building, the way he stays on the line to reassure Connor—he’s not afraid. Not of this.

When they emerge into the lavish foyer, he hears Zlatko shout from above. Craning his neck around Luther’s large frame, he sees the man on the stairs, and the other androids see him too. They shift as one in his direction, but Luther turns the other way, unlocking the front door.

“Luther! Stop! Stop them!” Zlatko demands, and when he catches Connor’s eyes, he spits, “Put that damn thing down!”

The androids start up after Zlatko, and the man startles, turning quickly, still shouting. Outside it’s cold, the snow still building over the grounds, and the door swings shut behind them, blocking out the sight of the first android pulling Zlatko back by his shirt. Connor shivers, and the air whistles through the pinpoint of his throat.

“We need to find somewhere safe,” Luther says, but Connor shakes his head. Hank isn’t far, and Connor communicates as much through their link.

Nodding, Luther carries them to the gate, pulling it open and stepping through, onto the empty sidewalk in front of it. It’s dark, most of the streetlights busted, and dead quiet. He sends a request for Luther to put him down, and the android obliges, setting him carefully on his feet. He’s glad to be out of the android’s arms, away from those crushing hands. His left leg won’t hold his weight, the servo in his hip too damaged, so he leans carefully against the wrought iron behind them.

Luther puts a little distance, and it eases the heavy beat of his pump to have that towering android out of reach. He knows Luther won’t hurt him, that he was acting under Zlatko’s orders and wanted it no more than Connor, but the memory of being crushed so easily is at the surface of his active memory recall.

The insides of his thighs are wet, cooling rapidly in the cold, and he realizes far too belatedly the obvious signs of what’s happened. The cracks across his pelvis and throat shine blue in the dark, the synthetic skin rearing back from the damage. Not damage. Injury. It looks so inhuman, bleached and smeared with a bit of thirium, and Hank will see what he really is beneath the fake peach skin.

He doesn’t have time to panic about it, because a car pulls onto the street, speeding towards them, and Hank’s voice in his processors says, “I see it, Connor. I’m almost there.”

It squeals to a stop right in front of them, and anxiety clenches a fist around Connor’s thirium pump as Hank throws the door open and jumps out. The communication drops in his head, but Hank’s voice is panic-thick in the air as he shouts, “Connor!” He finds Connor, almost hidden in Luther’s shadow, and his eyes widen considerably.

Connor’s head drops, wishing he had some way to cover himself, to spare Hank the ruined sight of him. Footsteps approach quickly across the sidewalk, and worn shoes pause just in his line of sight. He forces himself to look up, opens his mouth on a garbled name.

“Connor,” Hank says, and his voice seems to break on the single word.

Then he’s reaching for Connor, and Connor reaches back with his good arm, limping forward, falling against the warm chest, being crushed in an embrace.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I should have gone with you. Fuck, Connor, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head, a tremble working through his functioning limbs, until he’s shivering in Hank’s arms.

“Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe. We’ll fix you up, okay? You can bring your friend,” Hank says, pulling back, but he doesn’t let go, keeping a steadying grip as he looks towards the larger android. “Uh, long as he don’t mind being a little cramped in my car.”

He’s grateful for Luther’s help, even if he’s having trouble separating the deviant that carried him out from the machine that held him down. When he glances at Luther, the android meets his eyes, and there’s a sadness there.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” Luther says, in his slow, deep voice. “Go with him. I can find my own way.”

“Are you sure?” Hank asks, and Luther nods once before turning down the sidewalk.

Connor watches him go, even as Hank nudges him towards the car, until Luther becomes a dim shape in the surrounding darkness. Hank helps him into the passenger side, then hurries around to the driver’s door. By the time he’s pulling an illegal u-turn, Luther is lost from sight, and Connor leans back against the seat, trying not to feel the shadow of hands breaking him down.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this filth, please consider dropping me a comment and letting me know, cause they make me so happy~!
> 
> ETA: [Fanart by filorux](https://twitter.com/KittyconvoyFilo/status/1083921446248706048?s=09) which I'm going to cry over forever (´༎ຶོΡ༎ຶོ`)  
> Also, you can catch me over on [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/ConnorRK_) where I occasionally post updates on my fic writing.


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